Reflections
by M.L.Quincy
Summary: Every character in PJO is now the opposite sex. Percidia is just a girl, learning to deal with the fact that her mom is the Goddess of the Sea, and that everyone blames her for stealing the most powerful weapon in existence: The Master Bolt. Rated T for profanity and mature language. Sporadic Updates, Current Hiatus


ONE

I ACCIDENTALLY VAPORIZE MY PRE-ALGEBRA TEACHER

(–.–)

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: stop reading right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time until _they_ sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

(–.–)

My name is Percidia Jackson.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Ms. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Ms. Brunner was this middle-aged woman in a motorized wheelchair. She had graying black hair and a white Harvard sweatshirt, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think she'd be cool, but she told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. She also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so she was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped for once that I wouldn't get into trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we too a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nathan Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac guy, hitting my best friend Clover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Clover was an easy target. She was small. She cried when she got frustrated. She must've been held back several grades, because she was the only sixth-grader with acne and well, large breasts. On top of all that, she was crippled. She had a note excusing her from PE for the rest of her life because she had some kind of muscular disease in her legs. She walked funny, like every step hurt her, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen her run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nathan Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in her curly brown hair, and he knew I couldn't do anything back to him because I was already on probation. The headmistress had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill him," I mumbled.

Clover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

She dodged another piece of Nathan's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Clover pulled me back into my seat.

"You're already on probation," she reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nathan Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

(–.–)

Ms. Brunner led the museum tour.

She rode up front in her wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

She gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a _stele, _for a boy about our age. She told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what she had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mr. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mr. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though he was like really old. He looked mean enough to ride a Harley right through your locker. He had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From his first day, Mr. Dodds loved Nathan Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn.

He would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, girlie," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month. It was actually really creepy. First time he did that I thought that I was going to be murdered.

One time, after he'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Clover I didn't think Mr. Dodds was human. She looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Ms. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nathan Bobofit snickered something about the naked woman on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you_ shut up_?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Ms. Brunner stopped her story.

"Miss Jackson," she said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, ma'am."

Ms. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. "That's Krona eating her kids, right?"

"Yes," Ms. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied.

"And she _did _this because ..."

"Well..." I racked my brain to remember. "Krona was the queen goddess, and—"

"Goddess?" Ms. Brunner asked.

"Titan," I corrected myself. "And ... she didn't trust her kids, who were the gods. So, um, Krona ate them, right? But her husband hid baby Zeu, and gave Krona a rock to eat instead.

And later, when Zeu grew up, she tricked her mom, Krona, into barfing up her brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nathan Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Krona ate her kids.'"

"And why, Miss Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Mister Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Clover muttered.

"Shut up," Nathan hissed, his face even brighter red than his hair.

At least Nathan got packed, too. Ms. Brunner was the only one who ever caught him saying anything wrong. She had radar ears.

I thought about her question, and shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am."

"I see." Ms. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Miss Jackson. Zeu did indeed feed Krona a mixture of mustard and wine, which made her disgorge her other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their mother, sliced her to pieces with her own scythe, and scattered her remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mr. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Clover and I were about to follow when Ms. Brunner said, "Miss Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I told Clover to keep going. Then I turned toward Ms. Brunner. "Ma'am?"

Ms. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go— intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Ms. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," she said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Perci Jackson."

I wanted to get angry, this lady pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when she dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever _lived, _and their mother, and what god they worshipped.

But Ms. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C— in my life. No—she didn't expect me to be _as good; s_he expected me to be _better. _And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Ms. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like she'd been at this boy's funeral.

She told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas.

We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nathan Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mr. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Clover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from _that _school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish she'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius."

Clover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought she was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, she said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let her take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my dad's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen him since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. He'd hug me and be glad to see me, but he'd be disappointed, too. He'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look he'd give me.

Ms. Brunner parked her wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. She ate salad while she read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of her chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nathan Bobofit appeared in front of me with his ugly friends—I guess he'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped his half-eaten lunch in Clover's lap.

"Oops." He grinned at me with his crooked teeth. His freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted his face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

I don't remember touching him, but the next thing I knew, Nathan was sitting on his ass in the fountain, calling, "Perci pushed me!"

Mr. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed him—"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mr. Dodds was sure poor little Nathan was okay, promising to get him a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mr. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in his eyes, as if I'd done something he'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, girlie—"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mr. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Clover yelped. "It was me. _I _pushed him."

I stared at her, stunned. I couldn't believe she was trying to cover for me. Mr. Dodds scared Clover to death.

He glared at her so hard her chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Miss Underwood," he said.

"But—"

"You—_will_—stay—here."

Clover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, Clove," I told her. "Thanks for trying."

"Girlie," Mr. Dodds barked at me. "_Now_."

Nathan Bobofit smirked.

I gave him my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare.

Then I turned to face Mr. Dodds, but he wasn't there. He was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd he get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mr. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Clover. She was looking pale, cutting her eyes between me and Ms. Brunner, like she wanted Ms. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Ms. Brunner was absorbed in her novel.

I looked back up. Mr. Dodds had disappeared again. He was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. He's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nathan at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed him deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to him, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mr. Dodds stood with his arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. He was making this weird noise in his throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mr. Dodds. My predictions about him raping, stabbing and possibly even eating me were looming close. There was also something odd about the way he looked at the frieze on the wall, as if he wanted to shatter it...

"You've been giving us problems, girlie," he said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, sir."

He tugged on the cuffs of his leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in his eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

He's a teacher, I thought nervously, attempting to persuade myself otherwise of my previous thoughts. It's not like he's going to hurt me.

I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, sir."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Percidia Jackson," Mr. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what he was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on_ Tom Sawyer_ from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me _read_ the book.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Sir, I don't..."

"Your time is up," he hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. His eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. His fingers stretched, turning into talons. His jacket melted into large, leathery wings. He wasn't human. He was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and he was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Ms. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled her chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in her hand.

"Look about, Perci!" she shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mr. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Ms. Brunner's bronze sword, which she always used on tournament day.

Mr. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in his eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

He snarled, "Die, girlie!"

And he flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit his shoulder and passed clean through his body as if he were made of water. _Hisss!_ Mr. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. He exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand. Ms. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Clover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over her head. Nathan Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from his swim in the fountain, grumbling to his ugly friends. When he saw me, he said, "I hope Mr. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our_ teacher._ Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mr. Kerr. I asked Nathan what he was talking about.

He just rolled his eyes and turned away.

I asked Clover where Mr. Dodds was.

She said, "Who?" But she paused first, and she wouldn't look at me, so I thought she was messing with me.

"Not funny, sister," I told her. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Ms. Brunner sitting under her red umbrella, reading her book, as if she'd never moved.

I went over to her.

She looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Miss Jackson.

I handed Ms. Brunner her pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Ma'am," I said, "where's Mr. Dodds?"

She stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mr. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

She frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Perci, there is no Mr. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mr. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

* * *

**We all know the big plot of this story. It will always be the same. But how-how will our beloved characters deal with it, when they're the opposite gender as before?**

**As of right now, there aren't many changes within this, not including the his/her shift. Please tell me what you think, and please, pretty please, suggest some name changes. NOT OF THE DEMIGODS AND MORTALS, I have those covered. But I do have a problem with changing things like Poseidon into something feminine enough, without totally making the name unrecognizable.**

**Thank you, and I'll get back to you soon with chappie two!**

**Notice about Legend Mets Legend: chapter four is in progress. I know, I am way too late with it. But I promised you a good one, and a good one you'll get.**

**REVIEW-**

**~M.**


End file.
